


Leather-Blood

by deepestfathoms



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Cemetery, Discrimination, Gangs, Gen, Tour!verse, UK Tour, Weird Plot Shit, Wing Discrimination, Wings AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22001740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: [UK Tour Universe]A group of bats go to a cemetery.
Kudos: 10





	Leather-Blood

Technically speaking, Bessie was unconscious when she first met all of them. Or, rather, when all of them met her. 

That day had been a blur. It happened two weeks after she grew in her wings and saying she was miserable was an understatement. The bruises painting her back were one thing (Joan said that happened to her, too), but the judgmental stares and whispers were a whole other storm she hadn’t been prepared to go through.

Bats were disgraced beings, creatures of nightmares, and she was one of them now. If it weren’t already hard enough, what with the entire crew of the show knowing she was the slut who got knocked up by the queen’s husband, but now she also had two leathery wings to point out her flaws even further. She was avoided, stared at, whispered about, shunned, and even mocked. They think they do it behind her back, but she knows.

Sometimes, they aren’t even subtle.

Sometimes, they do it right to her face.

Bats don’t have feelings. You can’t pity them. Weaken them before they weaken you.

That’s how it works, apparently.

It had been after a show. Bessie decided to go for a fly, hoping that the fresh air and wide expanse of sky would help clear her muddle brain.

However, it ended up doing the exact opposite of what she wanted.

The sky was like territory, apparently. Bessie didn’t know you could claim chunks of the horizon. Perhaps it was all made up by the birds to keep her from flying near them. They were like that, so she wouldn’t have been surprised if that were the case. Especially because she was chased through the clouds by a trio of falcons that had some grudge against her.

She flew. She flew. Then faltered. Falling. Face into the dirt. Scrambling up, pushing so hard her nails shattered. Blood, an immaterial color in this throbbing, orange haze.

She flew. She flew. Up and up. She flew. Her body became bands of heat, walls of light, pillars of fire. She burned. She burned.

Reaching forward, fingers in supplication. The brambles, the branches, how they cut, how they stung. Blood at the boiling point. _Let me be, please gods, let me go. Leave me alone!_

She flew. She flew. Up. Up.

Wingbeats close in. Angry falcons with razor sharp talons primed for blood.

No world existed beyond the rushing roar, the concussive beating cracking in her head. She could not tell. Could not know. What lines. What lines exist between the burning and the body?

None. Nothing.

She flew.

But bats are not made for the light. Creatures of darkness is what they are and shadows are what they should stay in. A beam of pale yellow cut through the treetops and glared into Bessie’s eyes.

She stumbled, fell, and gasped.

Trees. Laying in the dirt, she witnessed trees. Swimming. Floating through water. Was anything (she watched this wavering world) real?

(Nothing felt real. Everything felt hollow and holographic beneath her fingers whenever she touched it. The only thing that was true were her wings, so leathery and bony and powerful. They feel real, but she does not)

The falcons close in. They seem more like vultures from how they circle her. She thinks of Maria. Maria would never prey on her.

(Or at least she hopes. You can never truly know)

Bessie can’t move. The tumble she took upon falling hurt a lot more than she had expected. Warmth is spreading throughout her head and hair- she’s sure she’s bleeding somewhere.

The falcons close the distance between her and them. They’re wielding wicked-looking pocket knives.

(It’s okay to kill a bat people will understand)

The largest, a peregrine, grabs a handful of her hair and lifts her head up. It hurts so much, but she can only gurgle and whine weakly. Struggling does nothing. She was helpless to their talons.

But then. A roar.

It didn’t sound…right. Not something bird nor bat could make. All three falcons snap their heads up and stare into the underbrush ahead.

Rustling. Twigs snapping. The falcons are staring up at something.

Something huge.

Bessie can faintly see it above her. It’s giant. One of its grey claws are right beside her head, mere inches away from her face, which it could easily rip off with a flick of its wrist.

But it doesn’t.

No, it doesn’t seem to be hungry for the bat, rather is hungry for the birds.

The falcons flee, but they are no match for the bat-winged beast that goes after them.

Bessie blacks out before she can see the carnage…or even see _what_ exactly had saved her.

—————

Bessie is flying through the night. The moonlight makes their wings stronger. Or, that’s what Eustace says, at least.

Eustace Chapys was a clever male, but was gruff and hard to approach at times. His wings were the strongest out of the colony (they weren’t a flock. flock was bird terminology. **they were not birds**.) and he called Bessie “pup” because that was the name of baby bats. No longer was she a fledgling, at least to the gang.

Margaret Pole is beside Bessie, sailing smoothly on her reddish-brown wings. She was the oldest and was like the mother hen (no. not hen. **they are not birds**.) of the colony. Bessie remembered her taking care of her after she woke up.

(It has been a blur, really. Bessie thought she was going to die out in that forest, but when she came to, she was in some underground bunker. Margaret was tending to the welt on her head)

Soaring on a higher air current, Hans and Jane Parker made idle chitchat. Those two had to be some of the smartest avians Bessie has even met before. They were good at planning things and finding ways to hide their wings from prying bird eyes. After all, it was Hans who made the special wing covers.

While nearing the ground, Bessie heard grumbling from behind and whiteish-yellow zipped by, nearly knocking her out of the sky. That was Juana, Aragon’s sister. Juana was fiery, but her anger was a cold, deep, dark thing. When she got mad, she was _mad_. Hans told Bessie a story about how Juana once poisoned a cardinal who said something rude about Parker. He survived, but she was never caught.

“Juana!” Margaret scolded, “Be careful. You could have made Bessie crash.”

Juana spreads her wings and halted in her descent, opting to hovering. She pursed her lips and looked up at the pup, who was steadying herself on her air current.

“Sorry, hun,” She called up.

“You’re good!” Bessie called back.

Juana nodded and then twirled around, continuing her dive. Parker and Hans soon followed, while Bessie and Margaret decided to take things a little slower to get to the ground.

(Margaret worries about Bessie’s wings. Unlike everyone else, she had hers grown in, not reincarnated with them already attached to her back. Margaret is concerned that they aren’t fully developed yet. Bessie likes that she’s concerned. It makes her feel needed.)

Cromwell and Fran are already waiting at the landing point. They’re both very mysterious and chilling in their own special ways, bearing powerful wings upon their back and clever minds in their heads. There was a reason why Fran was the leader of the colony and Cromwell was his righthand man.

“Good, you finally made it,” Cromwell said when everyone landed, “Shall we get to work? Bessie, this is your first colony trip, is it not?”

“Yeah,” Bessie nodded. “I didn’t know people did this!”

“Well, as you know, birds are too boring to do anything cool like this.” Parker said before sauntering forward into…a graveyard?

“Just passing through,” Margaret said to Bessie, sensing her confusion. “It’s harder to spot us here.”

“Plus, there’s scaring the feathers off of any delinquents hanging around here.” Hans added, “It’s the highlight of the whole night!” He and Eustace strode after Parker, shortly followed by Juana. Margaret gently extended a wing around Bessie to guide her along, but Fran stops her.

“I’m taking her, actually,” He said, making a disgruntled expression appear on Margaret’s face. “Go on. I’ll watch her.”

Margaret looked at Bessie, her eyes portraying worry, but she retracts her wing from around the pup and went after the others, soon disappearing into the fog ahead. Fran made a clucking sound before shaking his head and smiling down at Bessie.

“Shall we?”

Bessie and Fran made their way through the mist, weaving around gravestones and roots in their stride. Bessie asked many questions, which Fran seemed happy to answer, explaining that they were on their nightly outings, as it was the best time to stretch their wings. Not as many prying eyes.

Bessie thought it was a little weird that they had to come out this far, but she didn’t question it. She was too nervous about getting kicked out if she did.

Through the fog, an odor cut through the air. Fran noticed the way Bessie’s nose wrinkled and he chuckled.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Bessie has no idea what he meant until she saw the large pile of dirt and the hole. One of the graves was dug up and the casket was wide open, revealing the decomposed body of a bird inside. However, the wings still retained proper colors, feathering shining in the pale moonlight.

Bessie stumbles backwards, eyes bulging.

“Wh-what-?! What happened?!”

Fran looked at her and tilted his head a little.

“Calm yourself, darling. It’s not that bad.” He produced a frighteningly large saw blade from his coat and leaned down, lifting the body by one of its wings.

“What are you doing?!” Bessie cried.

“My love,” Fran said patiently, “what do you think the wing covers are made out of?”


End file.
